The air is crisp PG was kind enough to take us on a walk: he gave us a tiny redwood seed. I’m standing on the roof of the apartment mountains loom at my back a blue piscine in the courtyard ahead of me. It’s time to go in to YC time for the first dinner. jan 6, 2013
the mouse pointer looks like a fly on the screen whole lives mesmerized getting high on the screen staring hours ticking fingers on keys rubbing on touch pad scrolling down feeds click it quick hit then the pleasure fades scroll for more doses as dusk dusts the days
Crow arguing with The blackbirds We are lost at sea At play were the elements Fire conversing with tree The boats on the water At harbor Buoyed and bobbed In tumultuous wake In the wind all The church steeples bent Over backwards not wanting To break Coyotes and witches All cackled and howled At a bloody full moon A mischievous Handkerchief wove from Unwilling Gossamer: Unspun cocoon
This town is a city
this city a country
this country a freak show
a fricassee!
this city a country
this country a freak show
a fricassee!
This app is a salad
with sap - that’s a ballad
this song is a mallard
ducks died
in my peking pank.
Out my office window
fly five to ten birds
they wheel in the wind.
A chocolate croissant
is my means
and end.
Could be sansevierias
Crushing it in the noon-glow
Or disk backing in new moon halo
Wiggling luminensces
Finger tracing the big fig
We were out by the dark docks
Nostrilling cold air by boat glimmer
Bouncing stars off black baywater
Crushing it in the noon-glow
Or disk backing in new moon halo
Wiggling luminensces
Finger tracing the big fig
We were out by the dark docks
Nostrilling cold air by boat glimmer
Bouncing stars off black baywater
snot
but ‘twere my nog to doff
I’d be
parting the waters like
C. Frogglehoff
but ‘twere my nog to doff
I’d be
parting the waters like
C. Frogglehoff
snot
but ‘twere my bewn to pick
I’d be
mushing up a stone
to prick
here in tokyo
the crickets chirp
some bike wheels by
harajuku is quiet at night
the balcony is a dense space
airconditional drone and whir the sounds
a violint cicada chimes in overwhelm
water in my copper jar
self administered foot massage
poet on a harajuku night
she is in the shower
monday night
in japan.
the crickets chirp
some bike wheels by
harajuku is quiet at night
the balcony is a dense space
airconditional drone and whir the sounds
a violint cicada chimes in overwhelm
water in my copper jar
self administered foot massage
poet on a harajuku night
she is in the shower
monday night
in japan.
Tig bearneeoth, starlee soff sconofforomp
drootching oop them nardigrarnts
party parnts arn.
drootching oop them nardigrarnts
party parnts arn.
Fallaroffororopop um cardiac pernoperonct?
Eh, tardy carly hoffle opt’n
topple thought vine.
Hooskibri milaculoien -
hardly scared mopolopsy
tinder binging auto talkers
toggle at me.
Boogie waltz or martial arts
on grimy Frisco street
pop and locking
mutter talking
Dance! is on the schizoid wavebrain today
one man blocks Market street
with smooth butter moves
forearms spinning like drone ‘pellers
catching his glimpse
in the marble pane of a scraper deli
zig zagging Battery a frantic shuffler
left hand gripping his jeans
ass fallen out the back
cigarette in the careening right
pirouetting, blaspheming
“FUCK… BASTARDS!”
breaking the unspoken “no contact” rule
as he bursts past a lady in the bus line
saggy soles rubber every
inch of the pavement -
Stomp and Wheel!
a kung fu master
feet squared between
lamp post and newspaper box
clutching a bag of baccy
elbow strike,
chamber,
combination punch,
swooping knifehand,
ecstatic, magical tai chi
building an energy ball,
summoning change
Today they break out in dance
on the Frisco street -
schizo crazy
movement
livens gloomy techhead
as the moon waxes gibbous
they swing wild arms
jitterbug down forgotten lanes
bare ass in broad daylight
with a swagger no sane
square can stand to
applaud.
mercedes pulls up
dude gets out
big belly, red shirt
nike swoosh on his white ball cap
black shorts and he got on flip flops
goes straight for the Chronicle
and heads to the register.
suspense - will he get a drink?
orders a small dark roast.
whispy white hair on his thick neck.
little does he know!
little do they know!
little does the man with the big sheet of
NEON PAPER know
orange highlighter - he’s been to Walgreens
He nibs the page, middle aged!
Starbucks at 6 in the morning!
In they pour! Out they jumble!
OOH the drinks!
OOOH OOOH OOH the drinks!
the snacks
the WiFi
little do they know!
little do they know!
little does the blonde barista know
probably 17
his hair waved in a doo
straight from 1950
green apron on, he glances ‘round
his tattered blue shirt
looks to be passed down.
little does he know!
lttle does the pigeon know
that quarbles in the muck
drinking sludgy water from a
shallow puddle in the lot
puffy mantle iridescing
in the dawnlight.